


Trust

by VoiDreamer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunn Loki, Manipulative Loki, Mischief and Mistletoe 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoiDreamer/pseuds/VoiDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where the war between Jotunheim and Asgard has lasted centuries longer than it should have a grown Sif must learn to deal with the costs of choosing peace and making deals with an elusive Jotun Prince. A study of Trust in four parts.  Mischief and Mistletoe 2013 for ColorfulFlowersToo. Sif/Jotun!Loki</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ColorfulFlowersToo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulFlowersToo/gifts).



> I meant for this to be a lot shorter than it actually turned out to be. This is my first foray into the world of Asgard and making it an AU was both liberating and yet difficult. The Loki and Sif I've portrayed are in many ways similar to their Marvel counterparts (as they should be), but there are also some notable differences. A Loki who never had to compete with Thor for the love and affection of a parent is a different animal indeed. I do hope, despite these differences, that I have done both character justice and that I fulfilled Colorful's request to satisfaction. I am always looking to improve so constructive criticism is as welcome as words of encouragement.
> 
> Happy Holidays fellow mischief makers! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own nor intend to turn a profit from this work of fiction. Anything you recognize from the Marvel universe does indeed belong to Marvel.  
> 

Part 01: Trust against all odds

                 The Great War had raged for nearly five centuries, enough for nearly all of Midgard to lay a frozen ruin beneath the control of the Jotun Empire.

                And what had begun as a battle to save the human race quickly became a desperate fight for survival. For even though the united forces of Asgard were well equipped and gifted with all sorts of magic the Jotun army continued to push them back.

                Each decade brought with it more loss, and as the Jotun slowly clinched their control of Midgard so too did their interest in conquering of the other realms.

                Sif had grown from girl to woman surrounded by this smog of conflict, had watched her father leave for battle and never return. But she was only one of many. And though mothers had lost sons and husbands the longer the war went on, the more desperate Asgard became, and soon the battlefields are littered with the bodies of mothers, sisters and daughters too.

                No longer did being a warrior hinge on gender, and Sif joined their ranks as soon as she was able.

                Her rise to prominence in the following years was meteoric, bolstered by her unflagging bravery and her grit to survive against often unfavorable odds.

                The warrior maiden with golden hair and nerves of steel. She was a rallying point for generals and soldiers alike, and not once had the horrors of the battlefield prevented her from doing her duty.          

               But even she was not prepared for the viciousness with which the Jotun arrived at the borders of Asgard.

               It was nearly dawn when they first attacked. An otherwise beautiful morning, their arrival was heralded by the darkening of clouds and silvery fog of conjured frost. Watching from her position on the southern watch tower, Sif spied how sharp tongues of ice froze the gently lapping water at the shore, watched as the sky began to twist and writhe like a great serpent. It was the Jotun magicians and their affinity for ice and snow that began the assault, to encroach on the vibrant warmth of Asgard’s central heart.

                And though she had been in blizzards before, never had its appearance chilled her as much as this one did. If they lost here, there would be nowhere to retreat to. This was their last stand, the final bastion of resistance.

               She would not allow herself to waver, to even consider the possibility of defeat. She was a _warrior_ of Asgard, and she would sooner die than allow the Jotun to pierce her beloved city with great strafes of ice.

                “Lady Sif, scouts report that both Jotun princes have taken the field.”

                A courier, red faced and breathing hard appeared at her elbow, helm held at his side as he made his report.

                “The All-Father and Prince Thor have begun leading the eastern forces to the field, but ask that you check the defenses along the outer wall before you follow. They have reason to believe there may be a strike team poised to hit the shield generators.” 

                Frowning at the news, Sif bid the courier send her acceptance of her mission before turning to select three of her most trusted soldiers to manage the tower troops and surrounding fortifications. And only then did she gather a small contingent to address the defense of the shielding array.

                Build deep beneath the city, the chamber itself had been tied to Heimdall’s abilities as watchman, the shield itself of his own design. But as an attack on Asgard had become an increasing possibility the room had been made self-sufficient, a vault managed by only a select few.

                Sif was a talented warrior, but she had neither the years nor the temperament to deal with matters of secrecy and shadows. The Raven Branch of Odin’s guard had been charged with the defense of the vault upon its creation, so why Odin asked such a task of her was curious. 

Sif had expected her appearance in that secured courtyard to be superfluous. What she found proved her very, _very_ wrong.

                Two of her warriors died within a second of stepping through the heavy stone archway, another died skewered on a glittering spike of ice not a minute later.

                The Jotun had already arrived, and the corpses at their feet revealed the ill-fated end of the Raven guardians. There was no time for thought, only action.

                “Take cover!”

                 Her bellowing order was obeyed in an instant as her people dove for cover before mounting a counter attack. And though she nerve held steady the ground beneath her feet shuddered at the force of the Jotun’s second attack.

                The air erupted with the cacophony of chaos.

Swords and spears rose to the ready at her order, and Sif led the charge, killing a scout on her way to liberate the courtyard of the Jotun that dared attack her home. 

                 Magic crackled, Aesir fire against Jotun ice exploding into superheated steam that cooked anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle. Stone exploded as brute strength met iron will, and everywhere there was blood.

                “Watch the flank!”

                Gritting her teeth as the ground shuddered, Sif rolled from her position behind a fallen pillar to where two of her men were pinned down by a much larger Jotun brute. Easily a head taller than any Aesir and nearly twice as wide, she struck him with her shield to get his attention.

               He was faster than she had anticipated, and his first blow caught her in the shoulder, pushing her back.

                But she was a soldier of experience, of unrelenting focus honed on this battlefield and on every field she had taken to in the past.

               Dancing away from him, weaving beneath the flail of his arms, she watched, waited.

               He _was_ fast, but she could be faster, sharper.

               She dodged another blow and jabbed at the exposed arm that glanced her shield.

               Fast, but not yet fast enough.

               She grunted as she absorbed his counter attack, rolling with the motion to strike him again.

               The blood was running from them both, but his wounds were deeper, better placed.

               Fending off another blow, Sif pivoted in place to deal with another Jotun that thought to strike her from behind. It was a fatal mistake on his part, and his head was neatly separated from his body in a flourish of blood and quicksilver.

               But her true adversary was not to be forgotten, and her moment of truth came not a moment later.

               An opening in his side, the opportunity she had been waiting for.

               Exploiting his error, Sif bore down with her sword, snarling with effort as the thrust of her sword lodged her weapon deep.

               Too deep.

               Forced to abandon her word, she was forced back once more as the enraged Jotun bruiser reeled in rage and pain.

                Howling, the Jotun struck again and again, blows landing heavily on her shielded arm.

                “Damn you!”

                Arm bruised by the fierceness of the attack, Sif grimaced past the pain to counter the next hit, whipping the sharp edge of her shield forward with enough force to drive her sword further into her adversary.

                Her sword shattered with the force of her attack, but the cost was an easy one to accept when the Jotun finally cried his last and slumped over, dead.

                But while Sif had been victorious, her men were not all as lucky, and she scanned the battlefield to find too few left alive. She could not abandon this post, but neither would she sacrifice the lives of her men when the shield vault might provide ample protection as well as point of defense.

                She would have to punch through the Jotun that remained and then attack them from behind.

                There was no other choice. 

                “Men, to me!”

                Organizing those that remained, she used her lone magic user to ignite a path from their position to where the door of the vault stood, locked tight. The spelled door would allow them to pass, but the Jotun would crash upon it, as ineffectual as rain against stone. It would hold long enough to allow them to call for reinforcements.

                “Move!”

                She ignored the scorch of fire, the bitter cold of the ice, to focus only on the way her blood sung in her veins. And when a pair of Jotun dared try to stop her, the glaive that she had used only rarely became the instrument of their destruction as it cut them down, silver edge glinting like a beacon through the dust.

                Three more fell before they arrived at the door itself, and though she had lost another warrior in the push, the odds were a little more even than they had before.

                “Get into the vault and send a message to the All-Father!”

                Her words were loud but even, steady despite the chaos that surrounded them. And when the surviving members of her guard began to do as she asked, she stood her ground, repelling the attacks that grew more frantic as the Jotun watched their enemy enter the vault.

                She pushed the last of her soldiers into the room amidst a deadly hailstorm of ice that sliced the exposed side of her face.

 And then she was alone, facing the strength of no less than five Jotun warriors.

                Tall and well-muscled, each one might have posed a considerable challenge on their own, but together it was undeniably foolhardy.

               But Sif was no stranger to bad odds or death, and so she set her lips into a grim smile.

               “Well, which one of you is first?”

               But no sooner had the words crossed her lips when the courtyard filled with a mist so thick, so bitingly _cold_ that her lungs and throat seized in agonized rebellion.

               Wheezing, Sif reeled as the snap-freeze attacked her like a thousand slivers of glass, needling the tender tissues of her nose, her finger lips, and the exposed skin of her neck.

               Eyes burning, Sif pressed her palms to them as she stumbled back, the sensations so acute she half expected her body to shatter into frozen shards of ice. And though there was a sharp noise, like a blade or howl of wind, she felt nothing, saw _nothing_ , with her ice-blinded eyes.

               And just when it seemed to overwhelm her completely, her knees striking the floor as the strength in her legs failed, the cold disappeared, _vanished_ as quickly as it had first appeared _._

               Disoriented and nauseous, Sif could scarcely do more than brace herself against the door as her blood roared through her body in a glorious exaltation of life and _liquid_ rather than ice.

               It was only when her vision stabilized, cleared from that haze of fog and cold that she realized she was alone. Of the five Jotun that had remained, not one had survived that sudden startling cold. And _that_ was a surprise of no small measure.

               Her enemies had been reduced to small mounds of powdered ice, but by what she had no idea.

                “Well done, Lady. That was a most impressive display.”

               The voice that congratulated her echoed in the vaulted space, seeming to come from every direction at once. A cultured voice, it was not one she had heard before, and her suspicion only grew as laughter filled what was now an icy tomb.

               “You look at them so sadly, tell me my lady Aesir, do you pity them?”

               There was a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision, but when she turned to look there was nothing but a silvery sheen of fog clinging to what had once been a fountain.

               “Do you? That would surprise me very much.”

               The voice came from directly behind her, closer to the vault door.

               And this time, when she turned to look there was someone standing there.

               Brown eyes met vivid emerald a split second before they dissolved into an equally startling scarlet gaze.

               A Jotun, a _dangerous_ one.

               Small for his kind, Sif had the unsettling feeling that _this_ one was more deadly than the others she had faced. Because there was something distinctly sharp in his gaze that had nothing to do with killer instinct of a soldier and everything to do with the cold calculation of a general.

               “Congratulations are in order, Lady, you are the last warrior standing.”

                Sif watched the Jotun warily, “And what does that make _you_ exactly?”

                The smile on his lips was pleasant and completely disingenuous as he began a slow circuit of the courtyard; his eyes drinking in the destruction of the courtyard before focusing on her once more.

               “An observer. No one of true consequence…yet.” He tilted his head as he considered her, “Not like you, Lady Sif. The Jotun have heard tales of you and yours.”

                Gesturing to her sweat-streaked brow he added, “Your hair is entirely too famous to miss.”

                Not knowing how to respond to that, Sif said instead, “What is it that you are observing?”

                “What are _you_ observing at this very moment?” He parroted her words back with an easy grin, “The way I talk, the shift of weight as I move. My mannerisms and how I deal with opposition. What _distracts_ me and if I have any visible weaknesses – like a useless arm.”

                His eyes fell to where her arm hung at her side and Sif felt a chill settle in her gut.

                “You’re studying me.”

                It was less an accusation and more a confirmation of a truth they both recognized.

                The blue lips curved into a deeper grin, as the Jotun glanced toward the door behind her, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do to your enemies?”

                “Yes.”

                Her answer was honest, straightforward as was her character.

                “A smart warrior does the same to their friends too, don’t you agree?”

                She didn’t know where he was going with this, but nodded all the same. And this time her answer seemed to please him.

                “It is nice to know we agree on some things, despite our differences.”

                Speaking candidly, the Jotun returned to his tour of the courtyard as he lapsed into silence once more. And this time it was Sif that spoke up to shatter the silence, stepping into his path to bar him from getting close to the vault when he ventured near.

                “What is your aim here, Jotun?”

                Half desperate trying to understand what was going on, Sif held kept her right palm on her spare sword, expression fierce. The look only earned her an amused chuckle, as the mysterious Jotun slowed to a halt, standing close enough that had she wanted to she could have cut him down.

                “Would you believe me if I told you I was here in the name of peace?”

                Her expression seemed answer enough. 

                “I thought not.” Expression almost rueful, the Jotun sighed, “It’s so easy to kill and spill blood in the name of power. But to _talk_ , to sit down at a table of diplomacy. Oh _that_ is hard. _That_ is more terrible than death itself.”

                “Are you speaking of the Aesir or your own people?”

                The look he leveled at her was tinged with no small expression of irony, “The fact that you have to ask for clarification is answer enough, don’t you think?”

                The comment left her stunned as the Jotun continued with his questions.

               “Are you not tired of this blood sport? This game of brutality?”

                “It’s not a game.” Haunted by his words, Sif protested when at last she could find her voice “It is a fight to protect our way of life.”

                “Our way of life?” He settled against the broken edge of the fountain, “Tell me, do you remember a life before this war?”

                He paused, “Because I do not. I was _born_ into this conflict.”

                And though she did not trust him, did not _dare,_ she could not deny they shared the same legacy.

                “Would you not want peace, if such a thing was offered?”

                “At what price?” Sif challenged, “Our subservience?”

                The Jotun smiled as if he had anticipated such an answer, “Still such a warrior. Why should peace cost anything? Is it not enough for both sides to want to stop fighting?”

                His answer surprised her, shamed her.

                “Is that what your people want? Or are you the only one?”

                Scarlet eyes focused on her, _really_ looked at her.

                “It is what _I_ want. And that is enough, will be enough.”

                “You cannot be sure of such a thing.” Sif protested, “One person cannot stop what has continued for centuries. Not alone.”

                He extended a hand to her then, steady and unwavering in the face her of cynicism.

                “Then help me.” There was no missing the soberness of his words, the intensity of his gaze, “I can stop it now. All of it.”

                Sif hesitated to take that hand. To trust.

               “If you can stop it, then why do you need me?”

                “Prove to me the Aesir are capable to _true_ bravery.” His lips quirked into a smile, a _real_ smile, “Take my hand in peace, Sif.”

                She didn’t believe him.

                As a pragmatic creature she knew that the actions of one person, even one Jotun as strange as this one, were limited. Even Odin, for all of his wisdom and power had been unable to force Laufey to a truce and their failed attempt at a peace had cost the All-father an eye. And when the Jotun king had been slain his two eldest sons had risen to take their father’s place, united in their bloodthirsty quest for revenge.

                But maybe that was the point that _this_ Jotun was making.

                _Could she be brave enough to trust him?_

_Was it bravery or stupidity to do so?_

                She knew well enough that the touch of a Jotun on bare skin could result in painful frost burns, had earned her fair share during the war, but maybe that too was the point.

                _Was she brave enough to trust that he was different?_

_Could she afford to turn away any chance at peace?_

                Striving for that bravery she met his gaze, looked at his still offered hand and took it.

               And instead of the cold she found warmth instead, his long fingers gently curving around her own as a smile slowly came upon his lips, danced in those strange scarlet eyes.

               “Thank you, Lady Sif.”

               And then came the sharp blaring of a horn.

               Racing through the air like a great winged beast, it seemed to cut the stormy skies in two, and in its wake left a glittering trail of blue. Echoing across the landscape it resonated on the ice, in the stone, a crystalline note of pure music.

                A herald announcing the dawn of a new age.

                And when at last the note faded from hearing Sif found herself suddenly alone.

                She emerged from courtyard, bloodied but alive, arriving on the top most ramparts in time to witness the triumphant exaltation of the warriors below.

                The impossible had happened.

               A ceasefire had been called.

                The war was over.

               

Part 02: Trust and Trials

 

                It had been four months since the ceasefire had taken effect, three months since the talks towards peace had begun in earnest. And though both the princes Helblindi and Byleist had died on that final day of battle, Odin would still find Jotun leadership as strong as it had ever been.

                Into the vacuum of authority had stepped a third prince, a Jotun known only as Loki. And with him came the force to consolidate the power of his realm, the trickster queen who had fooled them all, his _mother_ , Laufey.

                “I thought Laufey was the name of the Jotun King?”

                It was a question Sif had been asked several times as curious courtiers and warriors alike jostled for a chance to catch a glimpse of the diplomatic envoy that had brought what remained of Jotun leadership to Asgard.

                “Is it true that she is the real leader of the Jotuns?”

                “If she is Laufey then was the Jotun King her husband?”

                So many questions, and Sif had no answers for them. What information she had gathered was purely from her own observation and even that remained incomplete and imperfect.

                Assigned to guide the Jotun honor guard through the palace and act as liaison between the guests and the Aesir, Sif had only seen the queen on only a handful of occasions. And even then, they were more glimpses than anything else, for the lady Jotun was jealously guarded both warriors and prince alike.

                 Her son was ever the watchful protector, and even though he was not always there to accompany her there was no missing the glittering emerald jewel that rested upon her brow, _his_ jewel though no one explained it as such.

               Sif however had yet to actually _see_ the prince himself. Or rather, she had never met him and so could have seen him without recognizing him at all, which in and of itself was disconcerting.

               It would be to her advantage to procure and image of the Jotun prince quickly if she was to continue to be on proper guard. But there were only a handful of people who might have such an image, and even then, those she might go to were otherwise busy brokering the peace.

                At least for now he would remain an elusive figure.

                And so Sif continued her work, guarding and standing watch, until one evening found her nightly route interrupted by the very queen she was meant to protect.

                “I am told your name is Sif.”

                Quiet, thoughtful, her voice was husky for a woman, lower pitch than Sif would have expected. But she knew who addressed her and Sif turned to face the woman who had been wily enough to trick even Odin himself.

                “Lady Laufey.”

                Sif had no idea what sort of titles Jotun’s used, but she attempted to be respectful all the same.  The smile she got in response was encouraging enough that she remained where she was when Laufey finally approached her.

                “My son said that you are to be commended.”

               Slender instead of stout, the queen barely matched Sif for height and had none of her physical strength. But there were different kinds of strength, and Sif had not forgotten the abilities of that Jotun in the courtyard. Abilities that a queen would have in spades.

               “Your son?”

               “Yes, he struggled for peace for decades before the opportunity presented itself. He credited you with making that final step possible.”

               “Me?”

               It was impossible to hide her confusion, not with her brow so creased.

               “I was but a soldier, your ladyship. Forgive me if I feel his good opinion of me is unfounded. I have not yet had the chance to meet your son.”

               Her answer caused the other woman’s elegant brows to raise slightly before the surprise was dismissed with a small wave of her hand, “It is often the common soldier who experiences the very worst of war. That you now protect me, seemingly without reservation, is humbling.”

               “I believe peace is something worth protecting.”

               Sif responded automatically, honestly, “We have all seen too much of war.” 

               And once more her words seemed to comfort the Jotun queen, drawing another steady smile that warmed her otherwise cold features.

               “Then we had best hope diplomacy wins out. Though who can say what the whims of men may bring?”

               “Why do you not join them?” Stumbling over her sudden lack of manners, Sif amended, “Forgive me Lady Laufey, but are you not queen? Would you not wish to shape the treaty?”

                “My son will be King soon. He must shape the kingdom he wishes to rule.” Ruby eyes glanced from warrior to where the garden lay just outside the window, “Loki has been raised for this; he will do what is right for our people.”

               And then, because the thought pleased her, Laufey added, “ _Both_ of our people.”                   

                “Pardon me, Queen Laufey, but someone is here to see you.”

                There came a polite knock at the door of the Queen’s library, and into the room stepped a tall Aesir messenger. A tall, good looking man, Sif found herself at a loss when she caught sight of those bright green eyes.

               An exotic Emerald, the likes of which were rare among the Aesir.

               Pale though he was, the color suited him, as did the deep ebony of his hair framing a face that was at once beautiful and handsome.

                But though he was the sort of man Sif could appreciate looking at, she did not recognize him and that in and of itself was dangerous. He should not have been able to get past the guards at the door of the guest wing, never mind make it all the way to the Queen’s inner rooms.

                Something was not right.

                “State your name, courier.”

                Remaining where she was, the warrior narrowed her eyes as she demanded to know who he was. She did not draw her weapon as she might have had she been on the battlefield, but her guard remained up, and she would not hesitate to act if he proved resistant to her request.

                “My name is not of importance, I am but a messenger.”

                But even though he spoke the words he took a step closer, and Sif did not miss how his hand strayed to the weapon at his hip.

                “If you are truly just a messenger then you may leave now, for you have delivered your message.”

                And this time Sif matched his step forward, placing herself squarely in his path, standing between the Jotun queen and this mysterious man.

                He unfurled his collection of sharp daggers with the grace of a viper, moving to drive the largest into her in the same sharp movement.

               Balanced, calm, she reacted to his first attack in a split second, whipping the glaive from her back to the forefront.

               Blocking the first wave of thrown projectiles, she remains conscious of her unarmed ward as she knocked him back.

               She would have to remain between them at costs.

               Countering the second attack with the shield on her arm, she pushed him again with a bellowed shout, kicking him sharply when he tried to pivot around her.

               “Lady Laufey, please find safety!”

               She gestured in the direction of the meeting hall in the hopes the other woman would know her meaning. But any further action was cut short as the assailant began the attack in earnest.

               Unlike the Jotun that she had fought, this Aesir was swift and cunning, using a mix of dexterity and strength to evade her attack and counter with his own.

Grimacing when she missed a block and took a strike of a blade to her left cheek, she retaliated with force and even when the wound began to sizzle with what must have been poison or magic she remained vigilant in her task.

                She hit him twice before he landed another, and by the time he score the third he was bleeding from twice as many wounds.

                “Yield, and I may yet spare you!”

                She shoved him to the ground and pressed with her foot until he stopped squirming, stilling at the look of iron resolve on her face.

                “You do _not_ have to die. But you must stop this, this instant.”

                And though he looked stunned at the offer, the look was all to brief, gone behind a mask of pure rage as he drove the last of his knives through her exposed leg and drove her to her knees in agony.

                But she would make good on her promise, and he would not live to see the dawn.

               With a final sharp slash she cut the assailant down, watching in sudden befuddlement as he dissolved into emerald light.

               And when that same cooling green wafted over her, it was with equal measures of surprise and awe that she found her wounds healing, the previous agony nothing more than a recent memory.

                Touching the now unblemished skin of her cheek, Sif had only just gotten to her feet when she was interrupted once more by a courteous knock on the library door.

                “Lady Sif, you truly are a credit to your people.”

                The voice of praise came from the wide chamber entryway, strong Aesir columns framing the tall form of a very familiar face.  

                The Jotun from the courtyard, with the queen beside him.

                And this time, instead of armor he wore attire befitting those of a diplomat.

                No, Sif narrowed her eyes as she assessed the glitter of precious stones and metal at his neck and wrists, not diplomat. He wore the garments of a prince.

                ““It’s _you_.” Her eyes widened as the last of the magic faded, “You’re the prince?”

                “Indeed,” Pleased, his handsome lips curved into an appealing smile, “Imagine how things might have gone had you but known who I was.”

                “You’re _Loki_?” She looked to where the body of the assassin had disappeared, “Was that your handiwork too?”

                 “You sound rather surprised lady Sif.” He sounded amused, pleased even, despite her temper. “Had you not heard the rumors? Asgard has a trickster prince in its midst.”

                 Laufey smiled at her son with affection but turned apologetically to Sif a moment later, “He takes after me in that respect. The illusion was not meant as an affront.”

                “Wasn’t it?”

                Vaguely Sif knew she was being insolent, but she could still remember the pain of her wounds, and rush of anger that even now had the power to reignite her temper. “We are trying to broker a _peace_ treaty, one that is still so fragile it could easily collapse had this been anything _but_ an illusion.”

                Outraged though she was, the continued verbal disrespect of Asgard’s Jotun guests was _not_ what she meant to do but stopping seems beyond her.

               “Our people have fought and died for _centuries_ and you wish to play war games now?!”

                Loki was a perfect counter point to her temper, and he raised an elegant blue hand to quiet her, at least for the moment.

               “It is not war games, but games of trust I care about.”

                Sif growled, “Trust?!”

                “Yes.” Loki’s flat red gaze froze her, “I would know who my once-enemy chose to defend my mother while I am not there to watch her. Who _would_ Odin trust to protect the peace between our people?”

                His logic was sound even though his method seemed more like madness.

                “That he chose _you_ is as much a comment on how much he favors this peace as any discussion we have over the treaty table. You serve well, Lady Sif, you are truly a warrior of honor.”

                “I would have you trust your first judgment then continue to _test_ me.” Sif responded, unwilling to so easily forgive his deception, “If you wish to pursue peace then you must learn to trust, as _I_ have had to.”

                And because she knew he would recognize the gesture, she extended her hand towards him, palm up and expectant.

                This time it washe who hesitated.

                Eyes lifting from hand to meet her, the prince glanced at his mother who merely nodded before leaving for her chambers. And then, when they were alone, Sif spoke again.

                “Trust that you have done the right thing. Trust that _we_ will not disappoint guarding you as allies.”

                Temper abated, she watched, waited, as the prince slowly crossed the space his face an expressionless mask though she wondered at the look in his eyes, the emotions that seemed to pass so swiftly in those depths.

                His hand slid into her own not a moment later, cooler than her own but once again familiar, warmer than she had expected.

               “I trust _you_ Lady Sif that will have to be enough for now.”

                It was not the answer she sought, but after so many years of fighting the compromise was an acceptable one.

               Sif felt a small smile warm her features, as she finally allowed herself a measure of ease.  

               “I never expected to see you again.”

                “Indeed?” His eyebrow quirked, “So have I disappointed you or pleasantly surprised you?”

                “A bit of both perhaps,” she folded her arms comfortably, “War does strange things to a person’s perceptions.”

                “Indeed.” He nodded in agreement as he gestured to the pair of chairs that sat before a roaring fire, “Do you have time to spare for conversation with the Jotun prince?”

                “As long as your mother is safe.”

                He glanced at the door for a long intense moment before he turned back.

                “Yes, I think she will be fine now. You have my thanks.”

                She did not expect the level of sincerity he expressed with that simple thanks, but it was all the more rewarding for such a surprise.

                They settled into their respective seats, with Sif poised opposite from the door, her place affording her a clear view of the doorway and all who may appear.  

                And though Loki did not seem to be as concerned, there was a momentary glow of emerald at the door before it faded from view. But the gesture was unmistakable, and now with both magic and watchful eyes guarding the queen the pair could converse freely.

                “Would you like me to surprise you again?”

                Loki gestured to the space between them and with a glow of sparkling emerald an elegant chess board appeared.

                One last game, this one Sif was familiar with.

                “Of course, Prince Loki.”

                He smiled, “You may call me ‘Loki,’ I have no need for titles.”

                “Then Loki, it is.”

                And that evening became the first of many she spent in the Jotun prince’s company.

 

Part 03: Trust and Truth

 

                She found him in the garden, the one he had come to make his own in the year since he had arrived in Asgard. Swathed in moonlight and darkness, he should have been impossible to spot, but Sif had known him long enough to know he was there.

                “Tell me it isn’t true.” She stood several feet inside the walled garden and her words echoed in the tight space, “Tell me that they’re just rumors.”

                His answer was an immediate laugh, though it sounded hollow to her ears.

                “You’d rather I not tell you the truth?”

                He stepped into view at the far end of the space, hands twining comfortably with the velvety foliage that rose to his waist. A plant that thrived on the cold, she watched in quiet wonder as the pale blossoms opened to his touch.

                This image of life was at stark contrasts with the news she had just received, news she _refused_ to believe.

               “They say it was you who killed your brothers on that final day of battle.”

                She expected him to defend himself, or at least tell her off for finally bending to those vicious lies, but instead her words made him smile. A devious little half smirk, he remained focused on the plants but glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

                “Well, that does sound like me doesn’t it?”

                His voice, smooth in the darkness sounded almost amused, “It did make me wonder what was taking so long to get to you. You, Aesir, are a chatty bunch.”

                “Then it’s true?”

                The smirk sharpened into something dangerous, “Of course.”

                As far as confessions went, his was the most straightforward she had ever heard. But so too was it the most horrifying, made more so by the unflagging smile on his lips.

               She had never met a man with more apathy, and he did not seem phased in the slightest.

               “But…” Struggling for a clear thought, Sif blurted, “They were your _family;_ how could you do it?”

               The accusation in her voice must have touched a nerve, for his smile slid slowly from his face, “Judging me once more, Lady Sif? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

               There was a moment, a split second when she detected a temper beneath that amiable smile, but it was gone in the next breath, lost, as he turned to his plants. Gently nudging a bud with his fingers, he tended the heavily perfumed boughs for several long moments with a pair of glittering shears the color of onyx.

               And though it was not a stifling silence, the world around them seemed hushed with anticipation, awaiting the time when he would confront her again.

               “Jotun politics is a lot more complicated then you understand.” He broke the quiet as he changed plants, stepping closer to her, “Their deaths were a cost I was willing to pay for peace.”

               “They were your _brothers_. How can you talk about them like that?”

               “Like what?” Loki put down the sheers, dropped them point-down so that their sharp edge imbedded itself into the soft ground, “Like items to barter?”

               Turning to her now, _gifting_ her with his full attention, he approached her, “That is what they were in this exchange. I _bought_ peace for our people with their lives because the death of our father was not enough!”

               “You make them sound like _things_. An inconvenient nuisance that had to be removed!”

               “You speak of something which you know little Asgardian.” His voice tight, red eyes cold, he stopped not more than a step away, “My brothers were brutes.”

               “You have no honor.” Sif shook her head, horrified by what she had discovered, “How are we to trust in a king who kills his own blood?”

               Her words cut the space like a blade, and the silence that this time was a ringing, terrible one.

                “What do you need from this conversation, Lady? Tell me and I will give it to you. Do you seek combat – to prove yourself still a warrior? Do you want another _war_?”

               Loki very carefully clasped his hands together, “Are you so quick to be offended, to ignore the subtlety of what had to be done?”

               His face did not change his expression, his tone remained as sharp and direct as ever, but Sif knew then that she had disappointed him, had failed to live up to the expectations that she had not even known he had held.

                “Truly you have surprised me this day, Lady. I had imagined you to be woman of perspective.”

                And then, seemingly done with whatever he had to say, Loki turned and walked away, melting into the shadows as he headed towards the far corner of the garden.

               “It is late, go home Sif. This is a dangerous place to linger.”

               The whole garden seemed to grow darker with his words, sliding into an inky blackness that proved impenetrable when she tried to follow.

               Choked by the shadows Sif had no choice but to turn back.

                It was on her way out that she saw it.

                The flowering plant that guarded the gate, tucked into the deep crevices left by weathered stone. Like a sentinel it sat and watched

                The plant itself was not out of the ordinary, if anything it was perhaps too plain. Compared with the flowering beauties that dressed the carven stone in Loki’s sanctuary this one was modest to the point of ugliness. Tall though it was, the leaves were unremarkable in their dark green and the buds had yet to blossom, though their dark purple casings seemed to glint like ripe berries in the dim light.

                Perhaps that was what it was, the darkness, the intrigue.

                The scent however was unmistakable, intoxicating.

                _How could a bloom-less flower be so fragrant?_

                The compulsion to get closer was impossible to resist, and her brain seemed to fixate on it.

                _Hypnotic, this dark beauty._

                Distantly she could hear Loki say something but she couldn’t focus on him long enough to glean his meaning.  So intent was she in her curiosity that even when the noise, his words, came again they remained a muffled nonsense. 

                It was only when she cast her hand upon the waxy surface of the closest bud that Loki’s voice managed to penetrate the fog of her mind.

               “Lady Sif, do not touch that!”

               But his warning came too late and Sif felt only blinding agony before the world disappeared beneath the crashing dark of unconsciousness.

 

                “ _What happened?”_

_“An attack by the Jotuns?”_

_" I had to kill them both, forgive me, but they wouldn’t listen.”_

_“It’s been too long, Lady Sif may never recover.”_

_“It was Prince Loki, she’s been spending too much time with him.”_

_“Neither one of them wanted peace, both of my brothers were too in love with the sport of war.”_

_“We all knew it was a matter of time before the showed their true colors.”_

               

_“Forgive me, Sif.”_

 

               She woke to soft sheets and dappled sunlight, the mark of a day meant to be enjoyed. It was only the second such morning since she had been moved from the healing wing to her own chambers, but already Sif could feel her need to rise from bed, to do more than just wait for her final wounds to heal.

               Wounds.

               Sif did not have to pull back her blankets to know her body still bore the marks of that strange plant that was actually _not_ a plant but a native of Jotunheim intent on protecting its much loved king. Patches of her skin had blackened in what only could be called frostbite, and though Asgardian healers had healed the majority of the burns a few lingered, requiring the application of a thick healing salve.

               Grimacing with the effort it took to retrieve the object in question, Sif was all but panting in exertion by the time she finished applying the last generous dollop to the burn on her neck. Breathing hard, she gave up trying to replace the jar of medicine back where it belonged as she fell back against the pillows too tired to do more than force air into battered lungs. The thick paste worked quickly to ease the hurt and loosen the tight muscles, and once the burden of her injuries was nothing more than a mild irritation Sif sat up once more, savoring the new mobility.

               She spent her time bathing and dressing, choosing her clothing for their softness and ease of motion rather than armored strength as she might otherwise picked. And through it all she was careful to avoid glancing at the mirror that stood above her vanity.

               It was only then, when she had completed the last of her routine that she sat down upon the low bench and confronted the reality of her new look.

               The shock had not quite worn off.

                And whether it was vanity or just surprise, she could not help how her hands rose time and again to touch the hair that had once been a golden glory, now reduced to nothing but charred black.

               “Oh Sif, you’re awake!”

                Her mother, smiling and bright appeared behind her in the mirror, looking very much like Sif once had. Golden hair artfully braided into a crown on her head, Brynja did not hesitate to join her daughter, brown eyes warm and maternal.

                “I had heard you might be, but I waited until now so you could rest. Eir said you had _quite_ the number of visitors while you were healing.”

                Despite her mood Sif smiled, “Did I?”

                “ _Quite_.” Sitting beside her daughter now, Brynja stroked the silky cascade that flowed down her daughter’s back, “Odin, Thor and even the would-be king of the Jotuns.”

                “Loki?”

                “You call him by name?” Her mother grinned, “You never mentioned that to _me_.”

                And though she is a grown woman, a _warrior_ who had killed and watched friends die, there is no stopping the rush of color to her cheeks at her mother’s playful ribbing, making her feel like a child all over again.

                “ _Mother_.” Sif sighed, “Can you please be serious?”

                “I am being serious, darling. But can you blame a mother for being curious? You’ve never kept anything from me before.”

                “I didn’t keep this from you, it just never came up.”

                Brynja tugged one wayward curl, eyeing her daughter knowingly, “And now you’re just being evasive.”

                “Maybe.” Sif sighed, “I don’t know…he’s a complicated person.”

                Her mother smiled, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”    

                “He’s done terrible things.”

                “War tends to bring out the worst, even decent people forget what is right.”

                “Mother.” Sif turned from the mirror, “Those rumors…he killed his own brothers.”

                “And you find this terrible?”

                “Don’t you?!” Sif asked aghast that her mother would be so calm, “They were his _family_!”

                “ _You_ were trying to kill his family too.” Brynja reminded her raven haired daughter with an ironic smile.

                “We were on different sides of a war!”

                “A war that is now over because his brothers are dead.”

                “Because he _killed_ them.” Sif shot back.

                “Yes, we have peace because _he_ did what we could not.” Brynja gently squeezed her daughters shoulder as she rose from the chair. “Think on that long and hard my darling. And ask yourself if you would have been able to make such a personal sacrifice without the guarantee that it would result in peace.”

               “You cannot know that was the reason he did it, not for sure.”

                “Of course not. But I think that regardless of _why_ I don’t doubt that he regrets it. At least a little.”

                And then, because Brynja had loved and raised her daughter, could read her face like an open book, she offered a final bit of advice.

                “I’m not asking to you forgive him, dearest. But we all did bad things during the war for what seem like noble reasons. That doesn’t mean we don’t regret them.”

                “And is that regret penance enough?” Sif asked softly.

                Brynja was quiet for a moment, before saying, “Would you not feel regret in knowing that the only way your people could be at peace was the loss of you most precious family? That you had to weigh your duties as leader against those of your heart?”

                “I believe he does regret, dearest. And I think he does hurt. The question is what part you will play in all of this.”               

               Her mother’s words remained with her long after Brynja had departed, haunting Sif with an insight that made far too much sense, forcing her to confront and reassess her initial reaction.

 _What would she have done if faced with such a condition?_  

                The question lingered for the rest of the day, in the back of her mind as she took a slow tour of the corridors, filtering through her thoughts as she sat down to dinner.

                It was only when there was a knock at her door late in the evening as she was settling down to clean her weapons that she realized she had known the answer all along.

                “Hello Loki.”

                He closed the door quietly, but stood just outside the warm glow of firelight. Dark hair against darker shadows, this was not unlike the last time they had talked. And yet, many things had changed since then. _She_ had changed.

                “Lady Sif.”

                He remained where he was, lingering by the door.

                “Please have a seat.”

                “I’d rather stand, if it’s all the same. Sitting makes me restless.” A smile, brief and strained, curved his lips before disappearing. “Besides, I feel I must…apologize, and I cannot say I will be any good at it. It may be prudent for me to remain standing if only so I may leave more swiftly when you command that I go.”

                “And would you go? If I asked it?”

                Her question made him flinch, and it was a long moment before he nodded, expression lost as he bowed at the waist.

                “Well, I am _not_ going to ask that of you, so please Loki, take a seat.”

                And when he hesitated a second time, Sif rose from her chair, standing before him stubbornly despite the pain it caused. Lips set in a tight line, stubbornness keeping her body rigid, it was only when he realized that she would not budge, would not bend despite her own discomfort that he finally did as she asked.

                “Would you care or some tea?” Gesturing to the pot she had beside her, Sif accepted his polite refusal before jumping into the conversation they both knew had to happen.

               “You said you were here to apologize?”

                Loki nodded, “Yes, for my actions in the gardens. It was not my intent that you be harmed, despite our disagreement.”

                “What was that thing anyway?”

                “A…pet of mine. I had been allowing it to use the garden as its refuge and had not truly considered the consequences.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “It is an intensely loyal, if also a very simple creature. It mistook our argument as a danger to my person and acted accordingly.”

                “So it was trying to protect you.”

                “Yes.”

                For the first time Loki met her gaze, “I _am_ sorry Sif. I should have made it clearer that our disagreement did not mean you were a danger to me. It might have spared you the attack.”

                Gesturing to her hair his expression tightened, “That it very likely a permanent change.”

                Sif has expected as much but the words still made her stomach clench, made her fingers curl in her lap. “I thought so.”

                “The color does suit you though.”

                His comment brought a small smile to her lips, though it faded a moment later as Sif considered their earlier conversation. The one that had started it all.

                “What happened Loki?”

                His reaction was immediate, and she watched as the shoulders that had slowly relaxed once more stiffened in caution and anger.

                “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

                “No, you don’t. But if I truly am your friend then will you not allow me to understand?” Sif shifted to the very edge of her seat, “I believe I may have been too harsh as well, back in the garden.”

                “There is no need to apologize for your opinion.”

                “It’s not a matter of apologizing, Loki. I want to understand.”

                He shot to his feet in the next instant, turning away from both her and the warm comfort of the flame. A comfort that Sif realized only then, might not be one for him at all.

                “I don’t need your forgiveness, nor your pity.”

                Back turned, facing the large windows, his words were firm, hard.

                “Of course not,” Sif said softly to the man who stool like a lone lighthouse in the ocean, “And even if you did, I’m not sure I would be the right person for it. But we are friends aren’t we?”

                He turned to her for a moment, “You certainly are the only Aesir I can stand. Why is that Sif?”

                Loki was a master manipulator and he was doing it now, turning the conversation to safer subjects. But this was a conversation Sif had been anticipating since the conversation with her mother

                “You need to forgive yourself, Loki.”

                “Forgive myself?” He rounded on her, voice sharp, eyes blazing, “You think I need to forgive _myself_?”

                “I _know_ you blame yourself. I’m just sorry I didn’t recognize it earlier.”

                She stood, slowly, carefully. Moving around the chair so she could match him eye-to-eye. “You were so intent on making me angry back in the garden. So careful to mention only the bits of truth that would infuriate me.”

                “How _dare_ you!” He strode forward until he was towering over her, all but vibrating with emotion, “To think you _know_ me, to _assume_.”

                He was a tempest, a hurricane of terrible fury that seemed bent on devastating her. But she was no shaking mortal, no feeble maiden. She was a warrior, a _strong_ one, and she had never stopped watching him since their initial meeting those many months ago.

                “You were so disappointed in me, not seeing the truth. When you had all but maneuvered me to see only what you wanted. You’re not a heartless man, Loki. I’ve _seen_ you with your mother. So do not tell me that you killed your brothers and cared not at all.”

                Calm, steady, she reached out to grab him by the shoulders, to hold firm, against that temper.

                “You think you are so smart? To think I had these high ideals is _laughable_. I wanted the throne, it was that simple.”

                “Was it?” Sif frowned, “Who are you trying to fool now Princeling? Would you prefer that the Aesir judge you so unfairly? Is that what you consider the right price for your actions?”

                Her hands tighten on his shoulder, and though he stood rigid it did not stop her from closing that small space between them. A hug, so simple a gesture and yet Loki seemed surprised by her action. Sif did not know if Jotun exchange such things, but she was offering it to him regardless.

                As a friend, as someone who cared.

                Eventually return the action. Awkwardly and without his usual grace his arms settled around her, his tall frame bending down so that he could rest his cheek against the top of her head.

                And when at last he spoke, Sif heard the words rumble in his chest, thrumming with his familiar cadence as he finally explained what her mother had long suspected.

                “They wouldn’t listen. Those stupid brutes.”

               He inhaled deeply, gulped air as he continued.

                “I tried to make them listen to reason. Our people were _suffering_ , but they wanted glory and blood more than they wanted peace.”

               “They were more my father’s sons than I ever was and when he died they desired to follow in his legacy. It mattered not that we had completed the mission father had originally set, they wanted – _needed_ – to be more. To prove to themselves that they were worthy of sitting on the throne.”

               Loki did not weep, made no indication to that effect, but Sif felt the tremor in his hands against her sides.

               “Mother had tried on numerous occasions to stop them. Had promised them _everything_ worth having but they didn’t care. Warriors yes, but worse than that they were mindless animals.”

               “Perhaps I had always know it would end in blood, but it wasn’t until we were standing at the very gates of your city that I realized I had run out of time. If peace was going to be had, if our people were to avoid further death then I would need the cooperation of Odin, and he had already tried and failed with my brothers. It _had_ to be me.”

               Sif felt rather than saw Loki shrug, “And so I did what mother and I had planned. They died for a righteous cause, but it was not _their_ cause. I took that from them.”

               “You regret it?”

               “No.” His answer was immediate, “And yet, I cannot feel as if I have tarnished their memory with my machinations. What is a warrior without a battlefield? I was never going to be like them, and part of me wonders if I truly did use that to my advantage.”

               He looked down at her, but his gaze seemed to fly past her face, lost in a memory, “I cannot claim high morals when I know I wished to rule from that stone of carven ice.”

                And then at once he returned to reality, red eyes sharpening as he returned to the present and found himself confronted with her quiet attention.

                “Forgive me.” Taking a step back, he looked like a man pulled too taut, ready to break, “I know you are still recovering, I should have been more mindful of my actions.”

                “I’m no glass maiden,” Sif smiled faintly, “And I can match you for temper, so do not think me weak, Laufey’s son.”

                Loki’s faint smile mirrored her own, and he gently touched her cheek at the color there. “No, I suppose not. You are as stout a heart as any diplomat.”

                “And you are not as guilty as you may feel.” Returning the tender gesture, Sif smoothed the dark hair away from his pale cheek, “But if you ever have need of me I ask that you use me as a friend rather than adversary. Trust me, Loki.”

                And with those words she extended her hand out, awaiting his own to seal this promise.  

                “You ask a lot of a king, Asgardian.”

                “I ask even more of my friends.” Sif retorted, 

                “It will not be easy.” Loki warned.

                “No it will not.” Sif’s smile brightened, “It would hardly be worthy goal if it was.”

                And his hand found her own amidst the dancing firelight.

 

Part 04: Trust in the future

                 It had been two years since she had first seen him, since peace had been won and the treaty had been finalized.

                Today would be the final step in securing that peace, and all of Asgard and Jotunheim had gathered for the double coronation that would declare Loki Laufeyson and Thor Odinson not only kings of their respective realms but brothers, with ties closer than blood.

                But while their alliance and commitment to peace would last long after Loki has left for Jotunheim Sif knew well enough that their time together was coming to an end. Diplomatic missions would allow visits, but the paths of their lives would see them to different ends.

                And so she watched in silence as both men proceeded through the ceremony, receiving the responsibility and adoration of their people, watched as Loki took step after step back into his own life. Resplendent in robes of deep emerald and gold, Sif followed him with her eyes wondering why the moment that should have brought such joy was tinged with a dull ache in her chest.

                As a warrior she had seen friends leave, never to return again, or if returned at least different enough that they were unrecognizable. War had done that. But it seemed peace would be no different, and after several years of being around the Jotun prince, and his mother their disappearance would be as much a loss as any she had felt before. The irony was not lost on her.

               He found her on the balcony overlooking the coronation hall. And though the ceremony had long since finished her eyes remained fixed on the space below. It was only when he clasped her shoulder that she seemed to notice him.

                “So you were watching.”

               Eyes bright in amusement, Loki gestured to where the citizens were milling about, “I had wondered where you were.”

               “Odin had me securing the balconies. I had the best view.”

               “Did you? See anything worth seeing?”

               Sif shrugged noncommittally, still focused elsewhere, “One or two things.”           

               “ _Sif_.”

               She looked over her shoulder to where he was waiting, her unsmiling face an uneven match for his own.

                “It was nice, Loki.”

               The hand that had held her shoulder tugged until she entirely turned towards him. And though neither said a word, there was that look in her eye, that slight frown on his lips that spoke well enough for them both.  

               “Will you see be there to see me off?”

                “When the time comes, yes.” She couldn’t summon the energy for a smile, “Or was it that you wished to depart now?”

                He shook his head, “No, mother thought it best we spend the whole day here, as part of the celebrations.” He sighed, “Though I can’t say I feel much like celebrating.”

                “Your people are at peace.” Sif nudged him, “ _Our_ people.”

                “Yes,” The look he gave her was a long considering one, “In that I am happy.”

                 His hands found the silk of her hair that brushed her back, “What will you do when I have left, Lady Sif?”

                “I was a warrior when I met you, I am a warrior still.” She rested her head against his shoulder, “The responsibility will now be to safeguard this peace. As long as we are united I will be there, standing watch.”

                “It does sound like a rather lonely occupation.”

                “It is the only one I have known.” Sif sighed, “It will be enough.”

                “Enough for what?” Loki frowned, “You are a woman who rises to challenges, and the sedentary life of guarding a border will not be enough.”

                “Peace must be carefully watched, guarded. There will be those that seek to remove it, for their own purposes.”

                “Will you not consider joining the envoy Thor will be sending to Jotunheim?”

                “I don’t have the talent for diplomacy”, Sif said quietly, “It would be a waste, there are others more qualified. I know my strengths, and conversation is not one of them.”

                “You and I have always had good conversation.”

                “That is because you and I speak as friends.”

                “As King I will need the honesty of friends more than the placation of couriers.”

                There’s an earnestness to his words that makes Sif pause, reassess what she had thought was a closed subject.

               “Perhaps I will have to visit.”

                “Will you?” Loki watched her quietly, scarlet eyes serious as he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Truly Sif?”

                She extended her hand out into the gesture that had long since come to symbolize trust. And though they had made a habit of it over the years, had made the proverbial leap of faith time and again, this time was different.

                This time there was no stopping the sudden rush of feeling as she tilted her head up to look at him, there was no denying the pleasure she felt in seeing his handsome features curve into an expression of amusement.

                When had her feelings of friendship turned into something else?               

His long fingers laced with hers, cool but comforting, larger than her own but gentle, so mindful. He might not always be an easy man to read, nor was he always considerate, but in this moment it seemed as if he might be both.

And there amidst the noise of the celebrations and noise Sif was drawn into his embrace, drawn into his kiss. A soft melting meeting of mouths, Sif felt her knees give as his arms drew her closer, hugging her close as their eyes slide shut to savor the sensations between them.

The war was but a memory, the impending departure nothing but a shred of inconsequential mist. It was just them, Loki and Sif, the way it had been from the very beginning.

                “Visit me, Sif.”

                Pulling back with a soft gasp, Loki inhaled the perfume of her hair, tried to memorize the details of her face, “Do not let this be our final day.”

                “I _will_ visit.” Sif promised, pressing another kiss to his jaw.

                And so began their love story.

               


End file.
